She went, whimpering. Standing before the keyboard she pulled on her wooden gloves and struck the keys.
Out over the infernal uproar below pealed the bells; the morning sky rang with the noble summons to all brave men. Once more the ancient tower trembled with the mighty out-crash of the battle hymn.
With the last note she turned and looked down at him where he lay against the wall. He opened his glazing eyes and tried to smile at her.
"Bully," he whispered. "Could you recite—the words—to me—just so I could hear them on my way—West?"
She left the keyboard, came and dropped on her knees beside him; and closing her eyes to check the tears sang in a low, tremulous,[pg 261] girlish voice, De Lonlay's words, to the battle anthem of revolution.
"Bully," he sighed. And spoke no more on earth.
But the little mistress of the bells did not know his soul had passed.
And the French officer who came leaping up the stairs, pistol lifted, halted in astonishment to see a dead man lying beside a sack of bombs and a young girl on her knees beside him, weeping and tremblingly intoning "La Brabançonne."